Wrapped up warm and tight, with his love in his arms, Tony lowered his head and fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 8
Talia didn’t sleep.
She watched Tony, which was much more interesting. He was a starfish, hogging the entire bed with his arms and legs spread wide, and he seemed to spend equal amounts of time on his back and stomach. He didn’t snore, nor did he seem to dream, although he did murmur her name once. In sleep, his face was smooth and relaxed, and it was possible to believe that he’d never been to war or suffered.
But what had he told her? The war always comes back?
Yeah. That.
She’d been fighting her own war this past year, hadn’t she? In the morning, that fight would be back. Again.
So she didn’t sleep.
When the first streaks of orange light crept around the edges of the drapes, she got up and tiptoed out of the room, trying not to disturb him. He didn’t move, poor baby. God knew when he’d last slept well.
After a quick shower back in her room, she threw on a white tank and button-down shirt, a pair of khaki shorts and her electric-blue wig.
Blue was appropriate, she thought. No doubt she’d be ending the day in the depths of despair, so why not dress the part? Hell, she might as well put on a little Miles Davis while she was at it; Kind of Blue pretty much covered it.
Wow. Wasn’t she the queen of self-pity this lovely morning?
Nice job, Talia. You’re a regular role model to women everywhere, aren’t you?
Well, it was time to get started on the mural. If nothing else, she’d been hired to do a job, and it was now first thing Monday morning, so she might as well hit the clock and get to work.
Okay, she though, surveying her work area. Where had she put her sketches? Were they back in the—
“Hey.”
Oh, God.
Tony came around the corner from the other wing, stretching and smiling a sleepy, sexy morning smile. Apparently modesty was not a virtue he struggled with, because he hadn’t bothered throwing on any clothes. His boxer briefs—they were gray, she saw in the morning light—were slung low over his notched hips, and there was an interesting bulge in front.
Her body tightened accordingly, which was ridiculous. Last night, she’d had the most amazing sex of her life and she really should be satisfied for a while.
She wasn’t, though.
Tony crept closer, all gleaming skin, rippling muscles and sinew. But something in her face must have troubled him, because his steps slowed and he stopped short without touching her.
He stared at her, growing wariness in his brown eyes. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I slept great.” His dimples emerged, color flooding his sharp cheekbones. “You probably noticed.”
“I’m glad.”
She swallowed, working hard to master the growing lump in her throat. “I’ve put this off long enough.”
Behind them, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Mickey rolled out, already speaking in midsentence. “I just thought I’d swing by and make sure— Hey! Whoa! How about you two giving a guy some warning?”
Talia wasn’t up for facing Mickey just yet, but Tony spared him a quick glance, waving a hand.
“Give us a minute, Mick,” he said quietly.
“Happy to,” Mickey muttered, backing into the waiting elevator again and punching the buttons five or six times. “Anytime you’re marching around in your Skivvies, you can include me out.”